She watched him carefully, studying his reaction with her mismatched eyes. She knew before he moved that he was readying himself to leave. She could see it in the way he finished his drink, the way his eyes darted.
The unfamiliar location sparked a mental searching within the wiry young woman. Saint Patricks... unbidden, images of shamrocks and tiny bearded men sprang to mind, memories that she'd never bothered to encounter before. Saint Patricks... a cathedral. Water from a church. Shadows drawing round...
Holy water?
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Again, a dozen half familiar connotations flooded to mind.
Surely he was joking.
Her legs unbent, and she found herself standing to follow, eying the barkeep warily and offering a curt nod. She didn't buy it. What she knew of this world, what context spoke- demons were a thing of her former life. This place was supposed to be different. Colder, more brutal. God was a desperate hope, prayer was delusion. She was done with the ethereal and the otherworldly; this place promised hope of a different definition of normal. John had just taken that from her.
Rhainn's jaw clenched as she moved for the door, no longer looking directly after John. Her steps were blind, mind churning. A vague sick feeling wrestled with the whiskey in her stomach- the physical sensation of hopes being quashed. Well fine. If this world wasn't what had been promised by her contextual memory- then she would simply have to adapt. She was tired of running, anyway. Time to move on to find something to stand against, and fight. Da would be so proud of her, battling demons and evil whole world away from the reality she knew; what a good little paladin's daughter she was.
A bitter growl parted her lips through clenched teeth as she pushed open the door and moved back out into the rain, oblivious to where John was or was not.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
One Man's Treasure - 37
She didn't meet his eyes as he spoke, his voice as smooth as silk across her frayed nerves. Her mismatched eyes swept the surroundings, and she tried hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. Mortification burned within her, despair tempered with aching- she had to find him. She had to find Dante. Again and again, her mind hammered out the details of her barely formed plan; ask Adrian to help, and find Dante. Then figure out how to get home.
Still, as he spoke, his voice quiet and smooth, she peered over to him timidly through a fringe of misplaced white hair, timid and cautious. She watched him place his hand upon her tearstain... and even as she obediently stared at the spot, it vanished before her eyes.
Her heart beat faster, and her eyes grew wide. This wasn't right. Things like this- and things like her- did not have a place here in this world. All of her strange new knowledge said that this wasn't possible.
She felt fear- and hope. So Adrian wasn't what he looked like, either!
Her lips parted in a startled gasp, and a frail sort of smile crept over her features. A timid, tired expression, as she studied the place that her tears had marked not moments ago. "I- I see." She stammered.
"S-so you're... not like everyone else here, too?" She asked quietly, daring to meet his eye with hers. Her heart began to hammer frantially against her chest. She was taking a risk... but Light, if it were true, just imagine! Maybe he came from back home, too! Maybe he knew a way out?
Possibilities rose and fell beneath a tide of hopes, dreams beginning to form before fading. She didn't know anything yet.
Still, as he spoke, his voice quiet and smooth, she peered over to him timidly through a fringe of misplaced white hair, timid and cautious. She watched him place his hand upon her tearstain... and even as she obediently stared at the spot, it vanished before her eyes.
Her heart beat faster, and her eyes grew wide. This wasn't right. Things like this- and things like her- did not have a place here in this world. All of her strange new knowledge said that this wasn't possible.
She felt fear- and hope. So Adrian wasn't what he looked like, either!
Her lips parted in a startled gasp, and a frail sort of smile crept over her features. A timid, tired expression, as she studied the place that her tears had marked not moments ago. "I- I see." She stammered.
"S-so you're... not like everyone else here, too?" She asked quietly, daring to meet his eye with hers. Her heart began to hammer frantially against her chest. She was taking a risk... but Light, if it were true, just imagine! Maybe he came from back home, too! Maybe he knew a way out?
Possibilities rose and fell beneath a tide of hopes, dreams beginning to form before fading. She didn't know anything yet.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Dingy - 36
John inspected his current cigarette for how dead it was. After flicking off some of the excess ash into the ashtray, it was only half dead. He accepted the new drink and this one he didn't bother with taking his time. As much as he wanted to get to know the woman, he knew he had to keep moving. He knew a few more places that big guy liked to hang around, and he needed to be stopped before he could take another victim. Or, at least too many more. There were too many skinned and gutted bodies being found around the city. The officials chalked it up to a serial killer with a hunting fetish, leaving human carcasses after taking their hides. They weren't too far from the truth, really.
Letting out a hiss of breath as the alcohol burned down into his stomach, he dropped his glass onto the bar. It needed to be his last.
He got to his feet, and looked at Rhainn. "Try Saint Patrick's," he muttered, referring to the cathedral further north. "Best chance of finding the real stuff, there." He would have told her to go to any church, but he had encountered a few chapels that had absolutely nothing holy about them. Most of those were in places like Las Vegas, but on his last visit to the Big Apple, he'd tried to use a small chapel one night when trying to evade a rather vicious, foul natured beast. Not only did the creature follow him inside, but the water inside the door was just plain water. What he didn't know was the place was set up by a con artist who was ordained by nothing more than the internet.
Nodding to the bartender, he brushed a few stray ashes from his jacket and headed for the door. If Rhainn was truly interested in what was going on, she would follow. But if she were more of the gawker sort, she would stay behind. Idle interest would not last beyond where she sat.
His own interest her was different. He didn't want to walk away until he found out what was so off about her. But he couldn't pry with the angel listening in to them. And he had more than a few methods of finding her later. That sense of something missing set her apart from everything else.
Letting out a hiss of breath as the alcohol burned down into his stomach, he dropped his glass onto the bar. It needed to be his last.
He got to his feet, and looked at Rhainn. "Try Saint Patrick's," he muttered, referring to the cathedral further north. "Best chance of finding the real stuff, there." He would have told her to go to any church, but he had encountered a few chapels that had absolutely nothing holy about them. Most of those were in places like Las Vegas, but on his last visit to the Big Apple, he'd tried to use a small chapel one night when trying to evade a rather vicious, foul natured beast. Not only did the creature follow him inside, but the water inside the door was just plain water. What he didn't know was the place was set up by a con artist who was ordained by nothing more than the internet.
Nodding to the bartender, he brushed a few stray ashes from his jacket and headed for the door. If Rhainn was truly interested in what was going on, she would follow. But if she were more of the gawker sort, she would stay behind. Idle interest would not last beyond where she sat.
His own interest her was different. He didn't want to walk away until he found out what was so off about her. But he couldn't pry with the angel listening in to them. And he had more than a few methods of finding her later. That sense of something missing set her apart from everything else.
One Man's Treasure - 36
He could feel it as that transition occurred. A residual wave of emotion that surged through that unseen field around her, and with her pressed against him there was no way he wouldn't feel it. She was fragile. Perhaps too fragile for what he might use her for. But that wasn't anything he couldn't take care of. There were plenty of people to aide in training her, to temper her against what might come. And in the end, she might not be nearly so blindingly pure and white, but she would be of much more use than her raw power could be on its own.
He looked down at his suit at her words, seeing a patch of dampness from her crying, darkening the charcoal pinstriped jacket. He offered her a soft smile with an easy laugh. He wasn't mocking her in the least, but seemed to find it endearing. A perfect act as inside he raged about a perfectly good suit needing to be cleaned. Tears were far easier to remove than blood, but the salinity tended to damage the material. He was going to--No. He could use this. He wasn't one to assume a job done until he added a few extra layers to ensure the deal was sealed.
"It is okay," he said smoothly, drawing his hands away from her. "Allow me to show you..." He was taking a huge chance. She had yet to verify her suspicions of her being from another world. But with a power like hers, he was willing to bed she'd had a run in with things that were at least a little out of the ordinary. Pressing his fingers to the damp spot on his jacket, he focused his attention downward.
At first, nothing happened.
A few moments passed, and a steam started to rise from under his finger. And like a splash of water on scalding hot pavement on a midsummer day, the dampness evaporated from his jacket, radiating from his fingers. He lifted his gaze slightly to watch her reaction.
Once his jacket was dry, he brushed his hand over the lapel, straightening it out. "There," he said, looking quite proud. "Good as new." He looked at her as if trying to say 'see, I would believe anything.' But he was ready for her to bolt from the car or assume herself gone mad.
He looked down at his suit at her words, seeing a patch of dampness from her crying, darkening the charcoal pinstriped jacket. He offered her a soft smile with an easy laugh. He wasn't mocking her in the least, but seemed to find it endearing. A perfect act as inside he raged about a perfectly good suit needing to be cleaned. Tears were far easier to remove than blood, but the salinity tended to damage the material. He was going to--No. He could use this. He wasn't one to assume a job done until he added a few extra layers to ensure the deal was sealed.
"It is okay," he said smoothly, drawing his hands away from her. "Allow me to show you..." He was taking a huge chance. She had yet to verify her suspicions of her being from another world. But with a power like hers, he was willing to bed she'd had a run in with things that were at least a little out of the ordinary. Pressing his fingers to the damp spot on his jacket, he focused his attention downward.
At first, nothing happened.
A few moments passed, and a steam started to rise from under his finger. And like a splash of water on scalding hot pavement on a midsummer day, the dampness evaporated from his jacket, radiating from his fingers. He lifted his gaze slightly to watch her reaction.
Once his jacket was dry, he brushed his hand over the lapel, straightening it out. "There," he said, looking quite proud. "Good as new." He looked at her as if trying to say 'see, I would believe anything.' But he was ready for her to bolt from the car or assume herself gone mad.
Dingy - 35
He was probably right. Rhainn’s knuckles had punished many a face for lesser transgressions; she wasn’t really the wind and dine or the cheap motel type. It had taken broken bones, weeks of knowing each other, fighting back to back, countless kisses stolen and then forcibly punished for… her only previous lover had been run through the gauntlet before securing her trust and affections. And it was less of a gauntlet, and more of a naked run in subarctic weather along a path of razor blades with randomly targeted detonations while pursued by angry nests of killer bees.
It was amazing Makis was still alive, even before his betrayal.
She had thoroughly beaten the shit out of him no less than three times in the long arduous trial of their quirky courtship. The man had clearly been mad to pursue her. Most men had more sense than that. Rhainn had a reputation, one which she upheld with great pride. It didn’t even occur to her that such thoughts might still be running through John’s head. He’d seen her knee Crawford, he knew she was one for fighting- most would have lost interest in pursuing anything more than a conversation, if even that much. She hadn’t realized she would have to work to re-establish the status quo; no touch-y the angry ice queen.
Still, these were thoughts that were far from her head as she examined the facts laid out before her. John very obviously knew more than he was telling. She wanted to know how that man had so easily gotten the best of her. There was something special about the water he’d used, something that hurt her assailant, but had no effect on her. Or perhaps it was something special about her assailant as well.
She wouldn’t have been horribly shocked to know the truth. After all, out of no where she’d found herself here, and the dragon’s voice in her mind was nothing but a memory. She was filled with new knowledge, and had a chance at a new life- a chance she’d never asked for, never wanted, and didn’t care about.
Rhainn wanted to be back home. She wanted to exact punishment on the ones who deserved it, not random thugs in a bar. Too tired to be alarmed, and too broken to feel afraid, she didn’t know about the problems in this world, and she didn’t care. She just wanted to fight until she couldn’t fight any longer, and to die on her feet, fists flying. If things went really, really well, she would kill the dragon first, and make Makis pay for giving in. For being weak. For letting them take him, for not fighting back, for bartering with the one enemy she would gladly give anything to destroy.
Her expression grew sour, and she looked again to the door that the man with shadows had fled through.
“So then where does one go to get water that makes big ugly men with bad teeth run screaming out the door?”
Her real question, however, lay unspoken. Where did one go to find big ugly men who she could subsequently weaken and spend hours fighting until one of them died… preferably the big ugly in question?
It was amazing Makis was still alive, even before his betrayal.
She had thoroughly beaten the shit out of him no less than three times in the long arduous trial of their quirky courtship. The man had clearly been mad to pursue her. Most men had more sense than that. Rhainn had a reputation, one which she upheld with great pride. It didn’t even occur to her that such thoughts might still be running through John’s head. He’d seen her knee Crawford, he knew she was one for fighting- most would have lost interest in pursuing anything more than a conversation, if even that much. She hadn’t realized she would have to work to re-establish the status quo; no touch-y the angry ice queen.
Still, these were thoughts that were far from her head as she examined the facts laid out before her. John very obviously knew more than he was telling. She wanted to know how that man had so easily gotten the best of her. There was something special about the water he’d used, something that hurt her assailant, but had no effect on her. Or perhaps it was something special about her assailant as well.
She wouldn’t have been horribly shocked to know the truth. After all, out of no where she’d found herself here, and the dragon’s voice in her mind was nothing but a memory. She was filled with new knowledge, and had a chance at a new life- a chance she’d never asked for, never wanted, and didn’t care about.
Rhainn wanted to be back home. She wanted to exact punishment on the ones who deserved it, not random thugs in a bar. Too tired to be alarmed, and too broken to feel afraid, she didn’t know about the problems in this world, and she didn’t care. She just wanted to fight until she couldn’t fight any longer, and to die on her feet, fists flying. If things went really, really well, she would kill the dragon first, and make Makis pay for giving in. For being weak. For letting them take him, for not fighting back, for bartering with the one enemy she would gladly give anything to destroy.
Her expression grew sour, and she looked again to the door that the man with shadows had fled through.
“So then where does one go to get water that makes big ugly men with bad teeth run screaming out the door?”
Her real question, however, lay unspoken. Where did one go to find big ugly men who she could subsequently weaken and spend hours fighting until one of them died… preferably the big ugly in question?
One Man's Treasure - 35
A choked sob escaped her, and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed, willing the world to go away. Unbeknownst to Kestrell, his hand descending on her frail back was as a hammer, sealing her fate. The pieces slid into place. Kestrell placed her trust into this knight, with his shining car and elegant business suit. She had no where else to run to, and no reason to hide, aside from the knot in her stomach and the fear in her heart. The worst that could happen was that he’d think her crazy- or so she believed.
Her poor heart wrenched with missing and pain. She clung to him for a moment longer, shoulders drawing up to her neck in a protective motion, blind emotion flashing through her mind- memories of fire, of Their laughter, of pain and tears, of Dante’s face as her hand twisted the knife, of blood and suffering… all these things, she’d known in her short span of memories that consisted of ‘life’. She hadn’t grown up as others had; she didn’t have memories of childhood, or parents. Just a long grey fog, and then a short, vibrant burst of color, of light and feeling. She only knew the past year of her life, as it had occurred. All of the pain and fear, and joy- her existence was one of extremes, and then quiet nights tinkering with drafts, sketching extravagant plans, pouring hot metal into molds and bringing brilliant creations to mechanical life…
Maybe she was crazy. The thought had crossed her mind more than once, and this newest incident did nothing to dissuade it.
With a deep breath, Kestrell opened her eyes, and looked up shakily at Adrian, searching his features. A tear leaked from her one green eye, and she cautiously lifted the handkerchief to wipe it aside, then glanced apologetically at his suit.
“Oh… I- I’m sorry… I seem to have gotten you wet.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she looked away, a flush on her features. Her skin burned, and she looked out the window quickly, though her body language betrayed her. She was still angled toward Adrian, and the remnants of her unease had been ripped apart. Kestrell was an open book to his intentions…
Her poor heart wrenched with missing and pain. She clung to him for a moment longer, shoulders drawing up to her neck in a protective motion, blind emotion flashing through her mind- memories of fire, of Their laughter, of pain and tears, of Dante’s face as her hand twisted the knife, of blood and suffering… all these things, she’d known in her short span of memories that consisted of ‘life’. She hadn’t grown up as others had; she didn’t have memories of childhood, or parents. Just a long grey fog, and then a short, vibrant burst of color, of light and feeling. She only knew the past year of her life, as it had occurred. All of the pain and fear, and joy- her existence was one of extremes, and then quiet nights tinkering with drafts, sketching extravagant plans, pouring hot metal into molds and bringing brilliant creations to mechanical life…
Maybe she was crazy. The thought had crossed her mind more than once, and this newest incident did nothing to dissuade it.
With a deep breath, Kestrell opened her eyes, and looked up shakily at Adrian, searching his features. A tear leaked from her one green eye, and she cautiously lifted the handkerchief to wipe it aside, then glanced apologetically at his suit.
“Oh… I- I’m sorry… I seem to have gotten you wet.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she looked away, a flush on her features. Her skin burned, and she looked out the window quickly, though her body language betrayed her. She was still angled toward Adrian, and the remnants of her unease had been ripped apart. Kestrell was an open book to his intentions…
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Dingy - 34
John had no intent of telling Rhainn any details about what had just happened. At least, he didn't want to tell her. He hadn't even told his now very much ex-apprentice everything. But there were always those people that came along that just begged the details from him. Dragged them out, was more like it. And this one was well on her way to doing just that. But that didn't mean he was going to give it all up right away. Especially not somewhere so public. Okay, so he had told someone the whole deal in a very public place. But there had not been an angel looming over him at the time. At least, figuratively speaking. The bartender was listening intently to them, but he was at the other end of the bar, dealing with a few unruly drunks.
"Soap won't do a damn thing," he said, after draining off the remainder of his drink. Alcohol had a short life when in his possession. "I just happened to get my hands on just the right water." Setting his glass down, he dug around in his pockets until he found his wallet. Squinting down at it, he managed to thumb through the items in the main portion until he found the right bill to hand over. Not all of what he had in there was American money. Remnants from being dragged every which way across the globe. His line of work wasn't exactly tied to one location. It had a nasty habit of roaming.
Dropping the bill next to his glass, he shoved his wallet back into his pocket, and just called for another drink. He ran into trouble if he just kept a tab for the night. As he waited for his next drink, he gave thought to inviting Rhainn along for a bite to eat. But she didn't seem to be the wine-and-dine type. But the again, neither was he. He was more of a cheap burger and even cheaper motel type. And the idea of getting a black eye for even breaching such a topic was not at all appealing to him. Or so he assumed her reaction would be.
"Soap won't do a damn thing," he said, after draining off the remainder of his drink. Alcohol had a short life when in his possession. "I just happened to get my hands on just the right water." Setting his glass down, he dug around in his pockets until he found his wallet. Squinting down at it, he managed to thumb through the items in the main portion until he found the right bill to hand over. Not all of what he had in there was American money. Remnants from being dragged every which way across the globe. His line of work wasn't exactly tied to one location. It had a nasty habit of roaming.
Dropping the bill next to his glass, he shoved his wallet back into his pocket, and just called for another drink. He ran into trouble if he just kept a tab for the night. As he waited for his next drink, he gave thought to inviting Rhainn along for a bite to eat. But she didn't seem to be the wine-and-dine type. But the again, neither was he. He was more of a cheap burger and even cheaper motel type. And the idea of getting a black eye for even breaching such a topic was not at all appealing to him. Or so he assumed her reaction would be.
One Man's Treasure - 34
Mild surprise crossed his features as she so suddenly grabbed him. It was a genuine emotion, if it was just a flicker. He had not anticipated such a sudden, jolting shift. But he did not stop her. It was what he wanted, in the end. He wanted her to trust him. Because once humans gave their trust to a person, things became so much easier. They stopped questioning strange things. Stopped looking for motives. Stopped demanding answers. It was a thread which led to directly to a person's heart, and if tugged just right could make them do just about anything.
He moved an arm around her, going through all of the motions to convey hesitant comfort, as if uncertain of what had just occurred. He braced himself on the seat for a moment with one hand, as she tugged him forward. His other hand came up to rest on her back, between her shoulders. And in small increments, he relaxed, accepting the position of a shoulder to cry on. His other hand came up to embrace her as well, gently rubbing over her back. Unseen to her, his expression twisted to show the utter disgust he felt inside himself. How the angels could do these things on a daily basis he could never understand. Humans were pathetic the way they gave in to such weaknesses and those do-gooders encouraged the release of emotion and all of that.
"There there..." he said, mimicking the tone he'd heard from them so often. That comforting, warm, soothing near whisper. Any number of the god-slaves would have added the added benefit of their own brand of influence. To give strength and courage, to inspire toward all that is good. That was not something he could do. Even if he could disguise his touch enough to get past her defenses, he could never bring himself to push anyone in that direction. Helping the other side, in even such a trivial way, was something he would never allow himself to do. It was something he would never even fathom. "...let it all out..." he added, as he at last brought his expression under control.
He moved an arm around her, going through all of the motions to convey hesitant comfort, as if uncertain of what had just occurred. He braced himself on the seat for a moment with one hand, as she tugged him forward. His other hand came up to rest on her back, between her shoulders. And in small increments, he relaxed, accepting the position of a shoulder to cry on. His other hand came up to embrace her as well, gently rubbing over her back. Unseen to her, his expression twisted to show the utter disgust he felt inside himself. How the angels could do these things on a daily basis he could never understand. Humans were pathetic the way they gave in to such weaknesses and those do-gooders encouraged the release of emotion and all of that.
"There there..." he said, mimicking the tone he'd heard from them so often. That comforting, warm, soothing near whisper. Any number of the god-slaves would have added the added benefit of their own brand of influence. To give strength and courage, to inspire toward all that is good. That was not something he could do. Even if he could disguise his touch enough to get past her defenses, he could never bring himself to push anyone in that direction. Helping the other side, in even such a trivial way, was something he would never allow himself to do. It was something he would never even fathom. "...let it all out..." he added, as he at last brought his expression under control.
Dingy - 33
A bad day? Rhainn was familiar with bad days. She’d had her fair share of them, and had caused more than her fair share in return. Her wiry body was riddled with scars and bruises from ‘bad days’. Property damage, destroyed lives, broken bones and missing teeth- these had all followed in Rhainn’s wake, from bad days.
A teensy bit of water did not a ‘bad day’ constitute, in Rhainn’s world. Her lips pursed skeptically, and she arched one auburn eyebrow, then grunted. Yeah, he knew more than he was tellin’… and she intended to learn.
She rolled one shoulderblade back, then leaned her head slowly to one side, twisting to jerk the vertebra with a series of loud crunches, back into place. A slow intake of breath, and she drew her posture a bit straighter, turning her head to study the place where the strange man with his shadows and unnatural strength had been.
The corner, now vacated, held no more than its fair share of sour spilled beer and broken glass. Nothing that would have caused the strange lighting, though she supposed that could have merely been a trick of the eye. Her eyes did another sweep of the bar, but found nothing interesting. She turned back to John, and offered him a small smile. It didn’t meet her eyes.
“Thanks for the drink.” She paused, and the edge of her lip twisted up in a smirk; this expression seemed to fit her better than an honest smile. “And your lesson in how to drive away men was enlightening. I’ll remember to keep soap on me.”
A teensy bit of water did not a ‘bad day’ constitute, in Rhainn’s world. Her lips pursed skeptically, and she arched one auburn eyebrow, then grunted. Yeah, he knew more than he was tellin’… and she intended to learn.
She rolled one shoulderblade back, then leaned her head slowly to one side, twisting to jerk the vertebra with a series of loud crunches, back into place. A slow intake of breath, and she drew her posture a bit straighter, turning her head to study the place where the strange man with his shadows and unnatural strength had been.
The corner, now vacated, held no more than its fair share of sour spilled beer and broken glass. Nothing that would have caused the strange lighting, though she supposed that could have merely been a trick of the eye. Her eyes did another sweep of the bar, but found nothing interesting. She turned back to John, and offered him a small smile. It didn’t meet her eyes.
“Thanks for the drink.” She paused, and the edge of her lip twisted up in a smirk; this expression seemed to fit her better than an honest smile. “And your lesson in how to drive away men was enlightening. I’ll remember to keep soap on me.”
One Man's Treasure - 33
Stay strong, stay strong, find Dante and stay strong… the words chanted in her mind, a prayer of fortitude, her heart a marble pillar. She could handle this. She would find him, and save him, as he’d saved her so many times before. It was going to be okay…
At Adrian’s slightly hesitant hand on her arm, she felt her control slip, and her shoulders shook. A small sob escaped her, and her eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding from them.
She felt as if her heart would break. It was –not- okay. She didn’t know where Dante was, she didn’t know where –she- was, and it was simply too much. All alone in a strange city, no where to go, no one to turn to, barely understood the new reality in which she stood- and here was Adrian, from no where, her savior.
Kestrell had never been very good at self control. Abruptly, she let out another choking sob, and all the hurt inside of herself seemed to boil to the surface. The pain, the fire, the missing hand, the missing lover- her remaining hand jerked up, catching Adrian’s arm, thin fingers gripping it. Without any more warning than that, she jerked towards him, and threw her stump arm about him, burying her face in his shoulder as she wept.
In that moment, her mind was made. She would tell him. She had no where else to turn… and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t think she was crazy. Maybe….
At Adrian’s slightly hesitant hand on her arm, she felt her control slip, and her shoulders shook. A small sob escaped her, and her eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding from them.
She felt as if her heart would break. It was –not- okay. She didn’t know where Dante was, she didn’t know where –she- was, and it was simply too much. All alone in a strange city, no where to go, no one to turn to, barely understood the new reality in which she stood- and here was Adrian, from no where, her savior.
Kestrell had never been very good at self control. Abruptly, she let out another choking sob, and all the hurt inside of herself seemed to boil to the surface. The pain, the fire, the missing hand, the missing lover- her remaining hand jerked up, catching Adrian’s arm, thin fingers gripping it. Without any more warning than that, she jerked towards him, and threw her stump arm about him, burying her face in his shoulder as she wept.
In that moment, her mind was made. She would tell him. She had no where else to turn… and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t think she was crazy. Maybe….
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Dingy - 32
Rhainn's reaction to the situation was most decidedly unexpected. John was far too accustomed to people who brushed off proof of demons staring them in the face as something else. Something normal. Drugs tended to be everyone's favored explanation. That person wasn't possessed by a minion of hell, they were just high. Never mind that it was a seven year old girl. She as on acid.
He took his time in lighting another cigarette, letting her question hang between them. With the stick burning between his lips he inspected the remains of his pack. Four left. He would need to stop on his way back to the hotel. He could hunt down that demon and be heading back to LA before he needed another pack after that. Or so he hoped.
He pulled the cigarette from his lips to speak. "What you fought was a guy who's had a very bad day." With the words, a cloud of smoke puffed out of his mouth.
The bartender set the glass down on the bar in front of John, who picked it up almost immediately. The angel was warning him, as he took a long draw from the glass. But that angel knew John by reputation alone, and the last two hours which he'd spent drinking in the corner. He certainly had a wide range of sources of information available to him, and they all told him that John tended to be something of a loose cannon. So maybe he took some things a little personally. But who wouldn't when Lucifer himself was saving a seat for you?
He took his time in lighting another cigarette, letting her question hang between them. With the stick burning between his lips he inspected the remains of his pack. Four left. He would need to stop on his way back to the hotel. He could hunt down that demon and be heading back to LA before he needed another pack after that. Or so he hoped.
He pulled the cigarette from his lips to speak. "What you fought was a guy who's had a very bad day." With the words, a cloud of smoke puffed out of his mouth.
The bartender set the glass down on the bar in front of John, who picked it up almost immediately. The angel was warning him, as he took a long draw from the glass. But that angel knew John by reputation alone, and the last two hours which he'd spent drinking in the corner. He certainly had a wide range of sources of information available to him, and they all told him that John tended to be something of a loose cannon. So maybe he took some things a little personally. But who wouldn't when Lucifer himself was saving a seat for you?
One Man's Treasure - 32
This was his chance. He had to seize it or it might slip through his grasp. But he had to be careful. There was a fine line between appearing concerned and pushing too hard. He didn't know what her defenses were. Would he be able to reach into her mind if she tried to run? She would most certainly sense him, but could she stop him? And if she could, he would never reclaim the opportunity.
His look of concern deepened further, despite how his insides rebelled against such a thing. The coin vanished as his full attention turned on her. He was quiet for a moment, watching her. She still had his handkerchief so he could not offer it again. As she struggled to not cry, he forced his expression even further, appearing to almost hesitate, as if afraid he might overstep his bounds. As much as it went against his nature to actually care, he was so very good at faking it. Nothing put humans off their guard as much as deep concern from another person.
Drawing a deep breath, he reached out and placed a warm hand on her arm. He avoided the one that was missing a hand, to show he was aware how much it bothered her. His touch was gentle, barely brushing over her skin and not allowing the full weight of his hand rest on her as if he feared breaking her. Every movement was controlled and calculated to play to her fragile state.
"I would believe far more than you might think." He said, softly. "Sometimes, things seem worse when they are kept inside. If you let them out they are much easier to believe. "
His look of concern deepened further, despite how his insides rebelled against such a thing. The coin vanished as his full attention turned on her. He was quiet for a moment, watching her. She still had his handkerchief so he could not offer it again. As she struggled to not cry, he forced his expression even further, appearing to almost hesitate, as if afraid he might overstep his bounds. As much as it went against his nature to actually care, he was so very good at faking it. Nothing put humans off their guard as much as deep concern from another person.
Drawing a deep breath, he reached out and placed a warm hand on her arm. He avoided the one that was missing a hand, to show he was aware how much it bothered her. His touch was gentle, barely brushing over her skin and not allowing the full weight of his hand rest on her as if he feared breaking her. Every movement was controlled and calculated to play to her fragile state.
"I would believe far more than you might think." He said, softly. "Sometimes, things seem worse when they are kept inside. If you let them out they are much easier to believe. "
Dingy - 31
Rhainn’s abdomen contracted as she let out a derisive exhalation, a smile jerking at her lips. Thoughtfully, she swirled the whiskey in the plastic shotglass, tilting her head slightly at the sound of the ice quietly clicking against itself. She rolled one shoulder back, enjoying the feeling of her muscles stretching, and followed John’s glance about the bar.
Her eyes lingered on the passed out man in the corner, frowning.
What sort of place was this, that the men could so clearly not hold their liquor?
Unbidden, a memory of another man, asleep and oblivious to the world about himself, passed before her mind’s eye. Her grip on the shotglass tightened. She abruptly drank, her stomach clenching at the burn of the liquor, the amber liquid washing away her memories of Makis and his fearless sleep habits.
She glanced back to John, a slight scowl replacing the amusement at what she perceived as his slight on the club scene. Her ragged, not quite so damp hair stuck up in odd places, and a strand curled limply about her cheekbones.
“I don’t suppose you’ve any intent to tell me what it was I just fought…? And why water sent it screamin’?”
Her eyes lingered on the passed out man in the corner, frowning.
What sort of place was this, that the men could so clearly not hold their liquor?
Unbidden, a memory of another man, asleep and oblivious to the world about himself, passed before her mind’s eye. Her grip on the shotglass tightened. She abruptly drank, her stomach clenching at the burn of the liquor, the amber liquid washing away her memories of Makis and his fearless sleep habits.
She glanced back to John, a slight scowl replacing the amusement at what she perceived as his slight on the club scene. Her ragged, not quite so damp hair stuck up in odd places, and a strand curled limply about her cheekbones.
“I don’t suppose you’ve any intent to tell me what it was I just fought…? And why water sent it screamin’?”
Dingy - 30
At Rhainn's question about others, John cast a glance around the bar. He really was taking assessment of the place for just such people. Several people had left and others had shown up since the fight. It took some effort, shifting the focus of his vision to see the other world and not just the physical one. But he saw no one who might pose a threat in a demonic sense. There were a pair of gentlemen taking up John's previous table in the corner, looking like both had recently stepped out of a construction site. They were both human, but they were far from normal. Nothing of concern to him unless they tried something.
John turned back to order his own drink before answering Rhainn. A jack and coke for him. As he said it, the bar tender gave him a strange look. Before John adjusted the things he, so he only saw the physical and nothing more, he caught a glimpse of the bartender's wings--an impressive span of white and gray feathers. There was an exchange there, completely unheard by anyone else in the bar. The bartender was concerned too many people would have seen, and that the demon would come back. John just shook his head with a shrug. If it happened, it would get dealt with.
"Nope." John said to Rhainn at last. "The club up the street's more their style." Realizing at last that he was still gripping the small medallions, he pushed them back into his pocket. Patting his jacket, he searched for his cigarettes, not certain which pocket he had put them in, or if he had put them down somewhere.
John turned back to order his own drink before answering Rhainn. A jack and coke for him. As he said it, the bar tender gave him a strange look. Before John adjusted the things he, so he only saw the physical and nothing more, he caught a glimpse of the bartender's wings--an impressive span of white and gray feathers. There was an exchange there, completely unheard by anyone else in the bar. The bartender was concerned too many people would have seen, and that the demon would come back. John just shook his head with a shrug. If it happened, it would get dealt with.
"Nope." John said to Rhainn at last. "The club up the street's more their style." Realizing at last that he was still gripping the small medallions, he pushed them back into his pocket. Patting his jacket, he searched for his cigarettes, not certain which pocket he had put them in, or if he had put them down somewhere.
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